


the sun and the moon in the winter

by charleybradburies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Awkward Conversations, Birth Control, Conversations, Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, POV Arya Stark, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Battle, Relationship Discussions, Season/Series 08, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 08:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19147429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: Following the Battle of Winterfell, Arya realizes she's in need of some help and seeks out her sister.





	the sun and the moon in the winter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Gendrya Fest prompt from a fellow tumblr user.   
> [ETA: in hindsight I realize that we're probably supposed to wait to post works inspired by these prompts. Apologies for jumping the gun on this, but here it is.]
> 
> Abuse tags are for mentions of Ramsay/Sansa. 
> 
> Please enjoy, kudos and comment!

With some of the memory of the pyre set aside, Arya’s left with anger.

It’s certainly not that she’s not glad to have survived, but she was foolish in what she might have wrought, and given her survival, that’s quite important. She was not ready for love, much less motherhood, and she’d put herself at great risk of both, hoping and yet not really expecting to make it through battle. Thinking of the way Gendry had looked at her warms her in a way that tells her perhaps she does want a family all their own, but… _someday_. When the smell of the burning dead wasn’t still in her nose, when Winterfell was whole again, when Cersei was gone, when winter was over. When she knew how to love him back. _Someday._

She’d known of a thousand poisons in Braavos, but knew little of making the moon tea that would prevent a babe. She’d never cared enough to learn, for she’d never wanted to lay with a man enough to think of it. Then she’d walked into the forge and spoken with the new, grown-up Gendry with his tunic half-undone, and that had changed. 

She presses a hand against her stomach, knowing she’ll feel nothing, but she does feel _something_ , just not with her hand - worry. Who could she tell? Who could help her? She had no intention of speaking to the maester.

 _Sansa._

Sansa could help her. Or, at least, she _would._ But she had been twice married and never been with child, so surely she knew how to prevent one from taking root inside her. 

And she was Arya’s _sister_. She would help, whether it was a conversation either of them wished to have or not. 

Even so, Arya takes her sweet time walking down the corridor, and nearly as long to knock. There’s a scratch at the other side of the door as soon as she does, and Sansa’s hand is atop Ghost’s head when she opens the door, pushing him away, back towards the fireplace. 

She catches Arya’s reticence in that single moment.

“Arya, are you well? Has something happened?” 

“I...I need some help,” Arya admits softly. Caught off guard, Sansa blinks, then quickly rights her demeanor, stepping back to usher Arya into the room, and Arya clarifies whilst closing the door behind herself. 

“With a...womanly...matter.” 

"A womanly matter? Your moon blood?" Sansa asks responsibly, and then she cocks her head. "A man?"

Arya purses her lips. "Both, in fact."

Sansa pauses again, brow raised in interest, but her breath seeming to stop in her chest. She thinks better of making the jump to a babe, though, and Arya takes half a second for gratitude. 

"Have you ever made use of moon tea?" Arya continues, watching her sister's face for the moment that she calculates her reaction. 

"Arya, do you have a lover?" Sansa queries, fascination shining through a gentle smile.

Arya sighs. "I'm not sure. Sansa, can you help me or not?"

Sansa lets out half a chuckle. 

"You're not sure?” she asks teasingly. “Are you unaware of whether or not you've taken this man to bed?"

Arya rolls her eyes, but rocks on her feet a bit, too. 

"Well, not to _bed_ , to be precise." 

Sansa snorts. "If you're about to tell me you were bedded in the forge -"

Arya gasps, recoiling. _How did -_

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Sansa responds, the words almost critical but her voice still light with amusement. "You're a Lady of the castle, and you wear your own face now, thank the gods. You're not _invisible_. And reportedly, there's at least one smith whose productivity is notably _lower_ when you're in his vicinity."

Arya presses her tongue to the back of her teeth, barely stifling a smile. _Idiots, the both of them._ Of course someone would have taken notice. 

"Gendry," she offers, almost cringing at how lovingly the name comes off her tongue. She knows her sister well enough to know that'll be noted. "His name is Gendry. He came with Jon, but I knew him beforehand. And...it was a supply room, not the forge itself." 

"Arya!" Sansa exclaims, her cheeks flushing red as though she was the one who'd done such an unladylike thing. "Really, was there _no_ time to go to, your chambers, perhaps?"

"Well, we were hours from what was near certain death, so, no, dragging him all the way through the keep was not my topmost priority," Arya declares, using her sister's loss of composure to bolster what little she still has, clasping her now-sweaty hands behind her back. 

"All the way," Sansa repeats teasingly, for they both know it was at most a journey of a few minutes. 

If Arya had been more prepared, more thoughtful, they might have made that trip, but she hadn't known what to expect, certainly not the desperation with which desire had risen in her once Gendry had begun to return her kiss. Even if she hadn't already been hoping he'd fuck her, she'd not long have remained a maid after feeling his hands on her. She was not about to use those words in conversation with Sansa, though. 

Sansa presses her eyes closed then, her expression changing to a sober one. 

"Do you not know if he made it?" she asks softly, and suddenly the Sansa who had sobbed and sobbed earlier, for Theon and for everyone else lost, is visible again, the lack of sleep still dark underneath her bright blue eyes as they look at Arya. “Is that why...?”

Arya's heart pounds, although she does know the answer. 

"He's still alive. We haven't spoken since. I don't...I don't know how to love someone, Sansa, let alone a lover or..."

Sansa furrows her brow, her face still full of sadness.

"Mother once told me that real, strong love is built - stone by stone, or...hammer by anvil, I suppose. That it was a choice."

"Mother _had_ little choice but to make it," Arya counters. Sansa sighs, then clears her throat, standing taller as though it was that slightest disagreement that had reminded her what had brought Arya to the lady's chambers. 

"I've only once made moon tea, from a recipe in a book at Castle Black. But there are other women here I imagine are more familiar."

It's Arya's brow that's furrowed now, confusion all too clear.

"You've never been with child, I would have thought..."

"I came to Ramsay a maiden and he had me locked in a room all day. For him, all I could do was to try to wash the seed out of me, and pray what was left never quickened. I got lucky. I've no intention to leave you to that." 

Her voice is sharp, as detached as she ever manages. But Sansa wanted a love story to come of Arya’s exploits, and it was not to be given. 

_Not today,_ whispers desire, deep and far too strong inside Arya.

“Thank you,” she says, keeping her voice steady. Sansa presses a small smile onto her lips, then heads for the door. Ghost jumps up from in front of the fire, and Arya holds back a chuckle as he dutifully follows the two of them through the corridor. 

Sansa knocks on a door near the maester’s chambers, and a sweet, soft voice that almost seems familiar gives them welcome, even before Sansa’s announced them. She looks to Arya, though, waiting a moment for her sister’s nod before opening the door and happily greeting the other woman. 

“What do you need, Sansa?” the woman asks, still sweetly, giving Arya, too, a nod, then stretching out her hand and stating her name just as cheerfully. _Gilly, like gillyflower._ “Nice to finally meet you, Lady Arya.”

“Oh, dear,” Sansa replies, face fallen just a bit. “Do I only come see you when I need something?”

At that, Arya can’t help a full-bodied laugh. Sansa gives her a look that attempts to be their mother’s glare, but is half a laugh itself. As it turns out, it emboldens Arya further.

“Sorry to say, but we are in need of something. Moon tea, specifically.”

Gilly’s brow raises like Sansa’s has, but she doesn’t ask into it.

“A single portion, or do you want me to teach you to make it yourself?”

“Teach me, please,” Arya says, timidity creeping in. She catches a smile on Sansa’s lips, but Gilly motions for her to go with her to a tall shelf in a corner, where she grabs the relevant ingredients, slowly naming them and checking that Arya is following along as she mixes up a portion, setting aside what Arya would need for another on top of a small velvet bag. 

“Now, the tansy in particular makes it quite bitter, but you need the whole portion to be certain,” she warns, handing the goblet over to Arya and putting the ingredients she’d not used inside the bag. Arya thanks her, and with a glance at Sansa, downs the drink, indeed finding it bitter.

 _Better than an unintended babe,_ she reminds herself, still wincing as she hands the goblet back to Gilly, trading it for the little velvet bag.

Sansa turns to the door then, her eyes on Arya’s. “Oh, and Gilly, if you could...neglect to note the specifics of our visit…”

“A dozen women are keeping themselves from winter babes. I’m not among them, but I won’t name any, let alone a lady of the house. My eyes make note well enough.”

“Thank you,” Sansa and Arya say in unison. Sansa heads out the door first, then holds it for Arya and for Ghost. The walk back to her chambers is short, and it’s about halfway there that Arya realizes she no longer really needs to make the trip, but she does anyway, waiting until they’re in front of the door to consider how she’ll depart. Sansa stops her in the moment, though, saying her own piece as she opens the door, holding it to indicate she wants Arya to continue to follow.

“Can I ask you something?” comes that first question, and though Arya’s not sure she cares for the next, she enters the room and nods, petting Ghost as he’s on his way back to his favorite resting spot.

“What’s it like?” 

Sansa starts, then pauses. The wistfulness of her voice is painful to hear. The sadness in her face, paired but not won over by interest, is worse.

“To be _with_ a man? For real, you know, a matter of desire and caring, not just…”

Arya gingerly takes a seat on the edge of Sansa’s bed, trying to think well enough to have a description but not so deep she truly needs to think on the matter. She tightens her grip on the little bag of ingredients.

“It was… _good_ ,” she replies at first, and though the force with which she’s genuine says more than the word, she hears her own criticisms, quite unhelpfully.

_A highborn lady can do better than **good**._

“It was...freeing, and desperate, and fun, and strange and new, and gleeful, and comforting and scary and...everything it could have been, I suppose. I don’t...I don’t even know how to describe it, I’m sorry.”

“It sounds like you have a lot of ways to describe it,” Sansa says, gentle though it’s something of a criticism, and Arya makes herself look up at her, makes herself see the fondness in her sister’s eyes.

“Perhaps, but....it’s still...more than that.” 

Her discontent is clear, but Sansa’s expression doesn’t change.

“Because you’re in love,” she offers, more a statement than a question, and Arya’s heart pounds hard, anxiety bringing her back to her feet, her hands clasped around the bag, right in front of the laces of her jerkin, her feet starting to move her closer to the door again. 

“I don’t know, perhaps - but I…” 

Sansa waits a moment after Arya’s words have trailed off. 

“I don’t know what it’s really like to love a man, but...I think that you should let yourself find out,” she says, and for all their interactions’ awkwardness, Arya is suddenly immensely glad it was Sansa she decided to come to for help. 

“And that I should make sure that supply room gets cleaned rather well, too,” Sansa adds, turning towards her desk and looking for a clear piece of parchment. 

“It was the grain. We were...on top of the sacks of grain,” Arya says, nearly smirking, giving her more information than she might want, but perhaps it would be helpful. Sansa pauses as she’s writing, but seems to make note anyway. When she looks back towards Arya it’s with slight disapproval - but only slight, her lips pursed and brow raised but a smile sneaking across her face all the same.

“You have two beds in this castle between the two of you. Next time…”

Arya chooses to ignore the suggestion for the moment.

“Thank you for helping me, Sansa,” she says, and Sansa seems to stifle a sigh.

“Of course, Arya. I’m _always_ here to help you.”


End file.
